


Empty Promises

by heathy_chandy



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:06:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25567162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heathy_chandy/pseuds/heathy_chandy
Summary: Amaranthea Millet won the 156th Annual Hunger Games.  A year later, she is one of the mentors for District Nine.  Her whole life is turned upside-down and she is forced to reconsider her moral standings.  Capitol interference doesn't help either.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 5
Collections: Hunger games





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is my first fanfic. Please leave comments and tell me what you think - I am always looking to improve my content. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Susanne Collins owns all the ideas - I only own these original characters.

My heart is in my throat as I sit, blankly staring at the crowd in front of me. It seems like only yesterday that I, a shaken seventeen year old, was standing here after my name had been pulled from the glass bowl. Today I sit with Emmer and Grist, my fellow victors of District Nine. Grist rakes his fingers through silvery hair with spindly, veined hands while Emmer sits squarely, a grim expression on his face. I try to read my former mentor’s emotions but all he does is give me a weak smile. “Good luck Amaranthea,” he whispers in my ear. I grimace, this is my first time mentoring after winning the Hunger Games last year. Grist has been mentoring ever since he won the 114th Games 43 years ago alongside Sorghum, another ancient victor. She died two years ago though and Grist says he needs a break; meaning Emmer and I are mentoring. 

After Mayor Reynard makes his speech, Fauziah Leto, the Capitol escort for District Nine, approaches the microphone.  Yuk . Unlike the garish lime-green theme she sported last year for my games, she is wearing a peachy coloured ruffled dress that clashes horribly with her turquoise lipstick. As usual, her unnaturally dyed hair is piled on top of her head in intricate curls that make me shudder.  
“Welcome, welcome, to the 157th annual Hunger Games!” she trills into the microphone. I look down into the audience, at all the children cordoned off into their age and gender categories. Unusually clean, yet terrified faces look back up at me. I will have to mentor one of them and they will surely die. This thought is sickening and I focus my gaze on the rolling fields of corn and wheat that surround the inner city of the district. 

The ceremony passes so quickly, and before I know it, it is time for the female tribute’s name to be reaped. My tribute . Fauziah reaches a gloved hand into the glass reaping bowl and I hold my breath. Finally selecting a piece of paper, she trots back to the microphone. 

“Faye Cropdale” she calls, her voice echoing across the silent square. A young girl with golden hair emerges from the 13 year old section. It is only when she reaches the stage do I realise how tiny she is. No , I think, not her. She’s too young. I suddenly envision her sprawled on the ground, her golden hair stained with her own blood; a grotesque weapon protruding from her abdomen.  
The little girl is trembling as Fauziah moves to pull the male tribute’s name:  
“Barley Reynard.”  
The mayor gives an audible gasp, then I realise that is his son. All eyes are on him and even Fauziah looks surprised. It is highly uncommon that the mayor’s child will be reaped. 

Sure enough, a thoroughly shocked looking boy of about 15 climbs the stone steps to the stage. He is the spitting image of his father with mousy-brown hair and watery grey eyes. I am pleased, however, to see that he is of fairly good build with broad shoulders, he might actually stand a chance.

'Ugh! I am disgusted at myself for comparing the District Nine tributes in that way. They are children, not machines!

After some pitiful applause, this year’s tributes are whisked away to say their final goodbyes in the Justice Building. I stand in the entrance hall, trailing the end of my boot in concentric circles through the red carpet. I hate this place. The all-too-familiar smell of the musty curtains threaten to suffocate me and the yellow glow from the flickering lights bring back memories. Empty promises I would rather forget.  
I can’t help but notice Barley’s parents and older sister visiting him. They look thoroughly distressed; I have never seen the mayor’s wife looking so dishevelled. I am also sad to see that only a blonde-haired seventeen-year-old boy (presumably her brother) visit Faye. What happened to the rest of her family? 

For the first time in a while I refocus back on Emmer. He won about nine years ago when he was fifteen. He smiles at me though his eyes are sad. I know that he’s thinking that this year’s tributes probably won’t win. I can’t help but agree.


	2. Chapter 2

Fauziah bustles us onto the train and Faye and Barley look astonished at the lavish decorations that adorn it’s interior. Since the Second Revolution, the Capitol clearly thought that starving it’s Districts into submission wasn’t the answer, so they have started treating us more humanely. Poverty has been reduced, but it still exists. Faye and Barley, nevertheless, continue to gawk at the extensive amounts of food laid on platters along the buffet table; tiered cakes, dainty eclairs, perfectly triangular sandwiches. The list goes on and on.

Faye is actually quite pretty. Her walnut-brown eyes contrast with her golden hair and fair skin. She is slim and dainty and seems agile and quick-witted. The typical young tribute.

“Faye, my name is Amaranthea Millet and I’m here to help you,” I say to her as she sits in a fluffy chair adjacent to me.  
She nods in my direction, acknowledging me before walking over to the cutlery drawer and pulling out a steak knife, balancing it in er slender fingers.  
“Teach me how to use this, like you did.”  
So I have a determined one this year I think. I glance over to Emmer, wondering if tis is the right thing to do, to start training on the train, but he is in a deep conversation with Barley.  
“Sure,” I say to her, “come on.”  
I promptly grab the containers holding all the knives on the train and move to a larger compartment, Faye following behind. I settle on one with soft, spongy purple walls that resemble the dummies at the Training Centre. Taking a steak knife, I make a large circle in the wall, not caring about what the Capitol attendants would think. I move all the sofas out of the middle of the room, clearing a large space. I pick up a paring knife with a slender handle, testing it in my hands before throwing it at the wall. It hits the dead centre of my circle, quivering a bit in place.

Faye watches me with her big brown eyes.

“Pick one and try it out,” I say as I gesture toward the knife boxes. She selects another pairing knife and I show her the proper grip.

“Thanks Amaranthea.” I can’t help but smile. I’m breaking the ice with my tribute.

Faye throws her knife and it hits the centre of the circle, aa couple of centimetres away from mine before clattering to the ground. She has good aim, just not enough force.

“Try throwing harder, direct your energy towards where you want the knife to go”

She continues to throw the knife four more times before it sticks. It lands on the very edge of the circle but, hey, its a start.

“Well done. You’re getting there.”

Faye gives me a weak smile before letting three more arrows fly. Each sticks to the wall, getting incrementally closer to the centre of the board. She collects the knife and we continue on until Fauziah enters the room. She sees a knife go flying across the room, making and indent in the wall before she starts shrieking.

“What ARE you doing? Wrecking the train like that? Those walls! Geranium Pink. I had them put in only last week! Amaranthea, dear, I thought you had more sense! Such reckless behaviour! That wall. Ruined.”

She is flustered and bustles us into the main dining car where Emmer and Barley are sitting. I give Faye a smile behind Fauziah’s back.

“Let’s keep knife training our little secret. It’ll be your secret weapon.”

Faye gives me a knowing smile before settling down at her seat while Fauziah rushes around, wondering where the knives are.


	3. Chapter 3

I am sitting next to Emmer as the train glides seamlessly across the tracks. Faye is perched on an ottoman while Barley is looking sulky in an armchair and Fauziah is pacing the room. We are watching a recap of the Reaping and I can sense our tributes’ anxiety. This is where they will be able to see their competition for the first time.

Pellitor Laurentius, the Capitol commentator for the Games, starts off by introducing us to the District One tributes; Desiree Valor and Vulcan Tripoli. They are both volunteers; eighteen, deadly and gorgeous. Desiree has brilliant blonde hair and blue eyes while Vulcan is muscular and athletic. District 2 also has two volunteers; Seraphine and Ryker. Seraphine is sixteen and looks bloodthirsty, with her dark eyes and wild hair, while Ryker Lloyd is bulky, muscular and outright scary. I would not like to pass him in the arena.

Lumen and Gamma from District 3 seem relatively harmless, though I recall some crazy, bloodthirsty 12 year old called Tulsee Ferric won from that district about 10 years ago.  Obviously appearances aren’t everything. 

From District 4, it’s Coraline Balmain and Caspian Wright, two more breathtaking Careers. District 5 and 6 look just as scrawny and insignificant as always. They are all definitely bloodbath tributes.  
District 7 - Orlaith Oakley and Hesmin Thickett are both sixteen year olds who look like fair contenders. I can’t help but feel sorry for the little twelve year old from 8, Purl Canton. As she mounts the stage she is crying while her auburn hair is whipped around by the wind. She looks utterly hopeless. I look over at Emmer but his face remains emotionless, so I return to the screen. 

Of course, it is District 9’s turn now. I watch as Faye is called from the crowd and how she mounts the stage, trembling, but stoically looks into the camera. I admire her courage. District 9 also attracts some attention from the commentator because of Barley, the mayor’s son, being chosen. Hopefully it will help him get sponsors.

District 10 has some fairly unremarkable tributes, but District 11 catches my eye.  
“Briar Andersyn,” the District 11 escort calls.  
Andersyn, Andersyn. Oh no.

No, it can’t be. This girl, 14, maybe, has the same brown eyes, the same deep skin, the same lips, the same unruly hair and the same last name as Aloe, my former ally and friend. She must be her sister. I have a sudden flashback to last year’s games.  I am sitting on the cave floor next to Aloe, attempting to stem the flow of blood from her empty arm socket and the deep gash in her side. Inflicted by the Mountain-Lion mutt I killed only moments ago. Her arm lies several metres away and Aloe is whimpering. I look into her deep brown eyes and tell the everything will be alright, but it won’t. Her arm has been ripped clean off and I can see her ribcage from the wound on her side. I am still cradling her when the cannon booms and she is dead. Sweet, lovely Aloe. 

I am back in the real world to find that I am lying on the floor with Emmer, Fauziah and Faye standing over me. Weakly I get up. I must have fainted and fallen onto the floor. How embarrassing.  I missed the District 12 reaping, as it is now the end of District 13 and Pellitor is making some final comments on the last two tributes; Kessie and Lucian.

I am so tired and overwhelmed with emotion and barely hobble to my room before collapsing into the soft, lavender duvet.


End file.
